A Bunch of Ficlets
by charlotteicewolf77
Summary: From 1.5 of a manifesto and a fic or two (maybe) on AO3
1. Life's a bitch, death's a bigger one

Chapter Title: Life's a bitch, death's a bigger one

Summary:Post novella, George isn't exactly in the best of places.

Laughter carpeted the bunkhouse as the men played cards round the table. Not too loud. The lamp casting a harsh glare in the centre that didn't reach the corners. That suited George , curled on his bed as he was. He faced the wall so as not to have to see Lennie's empty bunk. Two weeks and it was still just as raw as it had been.

Slim came back in from his cigarette. Declined the other men's offers to join and went over to his own bed. George shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep as he passed. He wasn't in the mood to talk.


	2. Sleep like dead men

Title: Sleep Like Dead Men. Wake Up Like Dead Men

Summary: "summertime, and the living is (not so) easy"

title from a softer world #658

Slim opened the door of the bunkhouse, cigarette between his lips and match poised. The electric bulb cast a shadow over the hunched figure on the steps. Soft looking if not feeling.

"What you doin' out here in the cold?" he asked George, sitting next to him.

"Couldn' sleep," Slim just nodded, blew out a plume of smoke. George, as he had been doing of late, stayed silent. Minutes passed and Slim flicked the butt away but didn't move from where he was sat.

Soon, the cold air had pierced his shirt enough to be uncomfortable. And George had been out here longer than him. "Come on," he stood, offered a work-roughened hand. "Jus' because it's Sunday tomorrow don't mean we need t' be up alla night."

A brief hesitation, and second calloused hand met the first. "Awright," he murmured.

The bunkhouse door creaked back open and the two headed to their respective bunks. George turned his head so he didn't have to lay eyes on the still-empty one. The skinner settled down amongst the coughs and snores of fellow workers. "Night, George," he mumbled.

"Night." Slim fell asleep but the smaller man didn't.

No point in sleeping- he knew what he had done. Didn't need reminding.


	3. God Loves Everybody (don't remind me)

Title: God Loves Everybody (don't remind me)

Summary: Saudade  
Portugese  
Noun  
The feeling one has for something or someone who is now gone but is still loved.

title from the National

"Ya know, there's a sayin'," Slim drawled, cigarette smoke almost engulfing him. The rain pouring down hadn't stopped most of the men still going into town. Candy was playing cards with Crooks, leaving only him and George to sit quietly out on the veranda. George didn't look over at him but Slim knew he was listening. "That you can't save people- only love 'em."

"Folk say lots of things," George muttered back, hunching further over his knees. "'Nd most of it ain't never worth repeatin'."

"You hadda, George."

"So you keep sayin'."

"And so you keep mopin' and drinkin'. Ain't gonna end well- d'you really need me to tell you that?" Slim flicked the filter off into the downpour, moved the tiniest bit closer like he knew George would respond to. The smaller man hunched ever so slightly more so he was a fraction of an inch closer.

"I can' jest forget him, Slim," breathed into the wind. "He were my best friend- dumb bastard though he may have been, he were my friend. I ain't had many of those."

"Nobody askin' you to pretend he never ev'n existed," he pointed out. "But ain't nobody askin' you to destroy yerself over it, neither. You can't, George. Y' shot Lennie to keep him safe, you can't jes' throw that all away by not keepin' yerself safe."

"I know," George rested his head on the wooden railing. "I know."


	4. what you break is what you get

Title: what you break is what you get

Summary: family is absent, family is nothing once it's gone

title from the national, lucky you

1927

Family was not something a ranch hand had. 'Family' became abandoned soon after becoming working age and never brought up again. The farming life didn't mold men into sensitive, patriarchal husbands. It made harsh, grubby forms driven by anger. Family went the same way as the pulp magazines and stories of cowboys and Indians.

The fire crumbled to embers and Lennie snored. George Milton stared at the lonely star visible through the leaves. Maybe, he reflected, he had in fact gotten lucky.

1937

Family was not something a ranch hand had. And George Milton was no exception to that rule. The work day had been long and he was feeling the ache in his bones. But his little jar of liniment would make him far too comfy. So he ignored it.

Slim jolted him out of the aching slumber he had fallen in to and sat down gingerly at the foot of his bunk. "You miss him," it wasn't a question.

"Course," George replied. "Ain't no other way 'bout it, I had him an' he had me."

"No one else."

"No," the word fell from his lips like a rock. "No."


	5. silence is grubby golden

Title: silence is grubby golden

Summary: 7 months afterwards, George is quiet and Slim is trying

After the first two weeks, George appeared to get over what had happened. He withdrew and the other ranch hands let him. If anyone but a select few tried to engage him in conversation he stayed silent. Even those select few got only small sentences out of him.

George Milton was now like all other ranch hands: alone. And he tried to convince himself that he preferred it that way.

7 months afterwards, a bug went round the ranch. It was a harmless sort of one, which didn't stop anyone from working. All who caught it got on , maybe missing meals. Or throwing up behind the bunkhouse with discretion.

When Slim caught it and threw up behind the bunkhouse, he expected to get left alone. Just as all the rest of the men had been. He _didn't_ expect for George to come and stand next to him, steady him when he swayed. "Thanks," he murmured. George had spoken maybe a handful of words to anyone in the past 7 months. And he didn't plan to break with tradition now.

Instead, he just nodded and walked back inside the bunkhouse with him.

When George caught the bug himself, he got on with it. Just like he got on with everything else nowadays: in silence. He expected for no one to notice. he was rarely seen at dinner, now preferring to escape in sleep. And when he escaped to throw up, he expected to get left well alone. He _didn't_ expect for Slim to come and stand next to him, much like he had done. He put his head down again as the nausea came back. Closed his eyes and pressed his palms against the now-cool wood. There was nothing _left_ for him to get rid of, but being sick was still on the agender. Bile burned his throat and he gave a pitiful retch, hoped he wouldn't fall over. He didn't think he would be able to bear the indignity.

He felt himself sway, felt the warm hand grip his shoulder and pull him upright. The hand fell away and George couldn't _quite_ bring himself to say 'thanks'.

So instead he gave the long fingers a tentative squeeze and Slim seemed the get it.


	6. I don't mind waiting

Chapter 8: (And I don't mind waiting if it's for the best)

Summary:

And I don't mind waiting if it's for the best  
A careful heart is better than none

Slim waits, because some things are worth waiting for. And he includes George in that list even if George doesn't include himself.  
Or: Through the eyes of a stranger... somewhat

Title from Reasonable Man, The National

Tommy is a good sort of worker. Average height, average build, average strength. But he's young and still with complete faith that the American Dream isn't just achievable in sleep. Slim holds nothing against him; chats a few times. That sort of youthful, hopeful naivety is a rare thing on a ranch nowadays.

George doesn't talk to him, but Slim tells him not to take it personally because George doesn't really talk to anyone. Only Slim sometimes, and the Boss. Not Curley though, the Boss' son, no one likes Curley because of _something_ so he stays away.

"Can he talk?" Tommy asked Slim, when he was still new. And it was a testament to his youth that he asked when George was actually in the room. The young worker had noticed a second later and- had they not been in the relatively gloomy bunkhouse- would have blushed.

Slim had shuffled the cards he held, dealt them out to the two of them and Carlson before he answered. "Sure, he can talk," he answered, calm like he always was. "If he has somethin' to be sayin', George'll say it." Tommy hadn't believed him then- even though Slim was the smartest guy he had ever met- because he had been there almost two weeks and the smaller man hadn't uttered a word he could hear. Tommy didn't think anyone could be that quiet, and he said so.

Slim and Carlson had shared a look then, one he hadn't understood. Eventually, Slim had huffed out a laugh, "Give it time, kid," he explained. "George ain't really much of a socialiser."

The expressions on the elder's faces had stopped Tommy asking any more questions about the broody George Milton. And, a week later, he heard him answer the Boss' questions. He had a quiet voice, or maybe he just didn't like being loud. A bit rough, though whether it was because of lack of use or simply life he couldn't tell. He didn't use any words he didn't have to and Tommy decided he _really_ must not be very sociable.

It takes a while, because Tommy hasn't even kissed a girl himself yet, but he figures it out. Slim is waiting for George. Waiting for _what_ , Tommy doesn't know. But he is waiting for something and George is part of the something. Maybe George is waiting for something that Slim is part of too but he can't work that out either. They're waiting for each other. Tommy can tell, because George talks to Slim. Admittedly, very rarely, but he talks. Not even because he has to, but when it's just them. And Slim talks to George differently than the other ranch hands. Softer, gentler, like he knows something.

Now, Slim is the smartest man Tommy has ever met, so he would probably wait for the something too. And if Slim is the smartest man he must see something in George that the others don't see. And George is so quiet and so broody it suddenly occurs to Tommy that he might not realise that he's what Slim is waiting for. But in a different way to Slim not realising. As if it isn't even a possibility, even remotely likely to happen.

For some reason, that seems a bit sad to Tommy. And he figures if _Slim_ is waiting for something to do with George he must be a pretty unique guy.

Yeah, that was a good word. Unique.


	7. whatever happened to the American Dream

Title: whatever happened to the American Dream

Summary: They get out.  
Not with Lennie, of course, because Lennie is... isn't.  
But they get out, so George decides to sort of reward himself. And Slim, of course, because Slim has put up with him for ages now.

Title from the American dream by MKTO  
I SERIOUSLY need to finish this but I think even if I do I'll still think of more chapters :s

~0~

They get out.

Not with Lennie, of course, because Lennie is... isn't.

But they get out, so George decides to sort of reward himself. And Slim, of course, because Slim has put up with him for ages now. And he and Slim and Candy and Crooks all put their money together and worked a few more months and brought a nice farm from another old couple who needed the money and were willing to sacrifice their finally-tangible dreams for it.

George and Slim did most of the work- George steadfastly ignoring how much easier it could have been with Lennie there- and Crooks looked after the horses and Candy did the easy gardening and cleaning and looked after the bitch and her puppies.

It was _good_.

Only it could have been _better_. It could be George-and-Lennie's room instead of George-and-Slim's with Candy and Crooks in the same room and all far too aware to make the spare room into an actual official guest room. Instead, it was the ghost room. Of _what_ , well, that was personal and a man didn't ask 'bout another man's ghosts. It weren't right.

There was however, a few advantages of it being George-and-Slim's room.

~0~

One month, two weeks and five days after being properly settled into _their_ farm, it is a tired evening. Quiet, not even because George still doesn't really talk all that much, but because a ranch is hard work; theirs or not.

A good tired, but tired.

Slim comes in from his evening cigarette- he could smoke in _their_ room but he doesn't; a mixture of politeness and habit George would find quaint if he was the type of man to think of something as quaint. And George looks apathetically from where he sits on his bed leaning against the wall as Slim switches his work shirt for his thin night one, puts his hat on his bedside table.

The thing is, Slim looks _good_ , and George won't deny it, not anymore. Because being best friends/brothers with Lennie means he's a bit more accepting than most. Deep down, of course, it's mostly because that by the time he had the time to wonder if _he_ was wrong for liking men he was too world-weary and strung out and disillusioned to really care and had just accepted it.

Maybe Slim won't mind, he reasons to himself. Because he didn't seem to when the front page was how a homosexual had gotten himself lynched in a tree.

Slim looks _good_.

"T' hell with it," George says out loud quietly. Slim turns and looks at him because those are quite possibly the first words he's said of his own volition in a _long_ time but George stops him asking by standing up and _kissing him._

Admittedly, it's wonky. Neither have done anything akin to _this_ in too long and it's dirty and messy and awkwardly not quiet enough but none of that makes George not notice that Slim is kissing _back_.


	8. huddle with them all night long

What did folks say again? 'Happiness is nothing if not from tragedy'?

Title from Demons by The National

* * *

They have some semblance of a thing going on. An illegal, probably immoral and disgusting thing, but a thing none the less.

Maybe their thing means George talks a bit more (to Slim only, but he is a bit less gruff with Candy and Crooks) and Slim smiles a bit more. It doesn't matter. Lennie will be dead with or without the existence of their thing and George will still secretly call all of the rabbits after his lost best friend.

Like Slim says: he did a horrible, inevitable thing in the nicest way it could happen. That doesn't and shouldn't stop him from being sort of happy and stable in his life for once.

And if, when George wakes up barely able to breathe and near tears with Lennie's name on his lips, if he keeps himself as quiet as possible so as not to wake Slim, well, he guess he deserves that.


	9. COULD be

He doesn't deserve it. Of course he doesn't- Slim is good and strong and has the opposite qualities of all George's bad ones.

He doesn't deserve **_any_** of this. Not even the pleasure of tired quiet evening company of Candy and Crooks or the heavy warm weight of the bitch and/or a pup or two.

George might deserve nothing he has but he carries on taking it. Every man has sin he needs to repent for.

He can repent through the guilt though, right?


	10. (or the boy with blue eyes)

Everything you love will one day kill you, whether it's cigarettes, or drugs, or the boy with the blue eyes, they all kill you in the end.

Alternatively: rambling with much reference to Greek Gods.

-

Sometimes, George felt like Hades. Dark and beneath and dragging the Persephone dripping with gold down into the dust alongside him.

Or... he would. If they had taught that in school and made him stencil it out onto his slate and his mother made him recite it as he stood by the tall vase in the corner of the kitchen. Since when did a farm hand need to know the ins and outs of the gods of an ancient civilisation he could never visit the ruins of?

Slim gave him smiles that showed glitter and words brushed with the sins of richer men. And George treasured them, abducting every single syllable into the mine of his mind and foraging for them later on. Though by God would he let anyone else slip in to pry them from their veins and arteries. The gate leading to his heart was dull with the sharp edges of diamonds and disasters.

Slim? George nearly moaned into the thin pillow under his cheek, twisted the threadbare blanket until it was a stormy river and no use as a shield against the cool night's air. Slim belonged in the bright airy fields, George knew. Slim belonged to their ranch, this ranch, _his_ ranch. Sure- George might keep away anyone with no good reason to come by, but Slim belonged to the ranch. He could see it stretching out, confident that his heaven would allow him to stretch his ownership as far as the eye could see and ground anyone with a strong hand on a shoulder.

If he had to, George was fairly certain Slim could contain all and every instance of chaos in their desperate, dusty country.

George hated him. And then he stored away the luscious compliments and mined them in time to his work and his calloused hands and Candy's sweeping.

Hades ended up marrying Persephone, right?


End file.
